Eternity
by Elliptical
Summary: It took a hundred thousand years and an apocalypse, but Claire finally understands Sylar. Oneshot. AU, Sylaire.


Meh, had to write this one out. Imagine if many of the events in Season 4 had never happened - if Sylar had never become a hero, if Claire had never met Gretchen, if the carnival hadn't happened, all that good stuff. Got it? Got it.

Review please? It'll only take you a few seconds. :D

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><p>It was time to face facts.<p>

Claire had become exactly like _him_.

Really, it made sense. Immortality within a world that would inevitably perish had its drawbacks. Actually, it was _all _drawbacks. She watched, a silent observer, as everything came crashing down, as the human race burned itself out. As her father died, her mother died, her brother died. All mortal, all aged until they could become nothing but cracked bones packed with dirt.

As Peter died.

She tried to keep him with her. Dark fears clouded the back of her mind, but her one thought had been that if Peter just _didn't touch anybody with superpowers, if she could just keep him alive with her immortality, then…_

It had worked for a while. But she should have remembered that Peter wanted to save everybody no matter what. And once specials were revealed, once the manhunts broke out – Peter was not content with immortality. It was not enough that he and Claire were no longer in danger, he said. It was not enough that he could heal from any wound. He needed to steal somebody's telekinesis, or the power to heal others perhaps, and rush into the thick of danger. He needed to risk his own neck to rescue some nameless stranger who would eventually die anyway.

They fought.

He left.

And the next time she saw his name was on a crumbling gravestone. The news of his death had reached her long before this, but she hadn't been able to steel herself for the site until years upon years had passed. With Peter gone, life was completely solitary. What was the point?

It was a slow process, the way her brain shut off. But within the context of infinity, it was a blink of an eye. One day she awoke as an angsty fifteen-year-old girl who was worried about not being _normal, _the next she became somebody who found the suffering of human creatures nothing short of amusing. After all, she'd suffered enough herself. They dared to think they knew what pain felt like when they always had death within their grips to end it all.

It was funny.

Now she walked across a human-less world. Most mammals had perished, and most of the fish in the rivers. On the bright side, plants were prospering, forests growing up in places cities used to be. There was one real sign of humanity left after all this time. She could have walked through what remained of New York City. The place was a crumbling, metallic paradise, surrendering itself to the elements but still rising from the ground like a ghost.

Alone in the world, there was nothing to do but wander.

Maybe she'd be able to find some untouched books that had survived the fires. Eventually in this space of eternity, she'd run out of reading material. But that day was not today, that year was not this year.

She arrived in New York without noticing any of the time that ran between.

Occasionally, there were things that scared her. Like the fact that eventually the sun would explode, the earth would be vaporized, and… she'd probably end up floating through space until she went completely insane. Unless she was already there.

Maybe that explosion would finally kill her. Then again, if she could survive a nuclear bomb…

Weeds poked through the cracked pavement. Buildings were falling apart, would probably crumple completely if she so much as hit them with a hammer. Not a good idea to try to climb them, but ever since discovering her ability, she'd been a fan of self-mutilation. Nothing like killing yourself repeatedly to remind you what a freak you were.

"Claire!"

At first, she thought it was just a voice in her head. This wouldn't be the first time. But as the voice came again – "_Claire!" – _it started to resolve into something disturbingly familiar.

She turned slowly and found herself face-to-face with a hundred thousand year old memory.

She hadn't allowed herself to think about him for a long time, not since before Peter died. The side of her that was forever and always a teenager screamed that it would be better to be alone than to go anywhere near him.

The side of her that _understood _relaxed.

And the instinctual side of her recognized him only as another human being, a threat.

She ran.

Of course she didn't get far. He'd been stealing abilities until the very last special person took their very last breath. Probably thought of himself as a god. And yes, this was understandable to her too. He would live forever. They would all die eventually anyway. In an odd sort of way, they'd always live on when he used their powers.

And she had wanted so badly to kill him so long ago. Shame it had taken this long to get it.

Her arms locked to her sides. Her legs froze mid-stride, the right one lowering back to the ground. Her body spun around, and the master puppeteer beckoned her forward.

"Goddamn it," he muttered. "Goddamn it, Claire, you're not getting away again that easily."

Since he'd been kind enough not to seal her mouth shut, she said, "Charming."

He hadn't changed at all. His face was still as handsome as ever, his hair combed out of deep brown eyes. But there was an expression she'd never seen hidden behind them – fear.

"Hello, Sylar," she added. "Scared of me?"

A pause. As he lowered his hand, her whole body relaxed. She could run again, but he'd just drag her back, and this time he probably wouldn't be quite so lenient.

His tongue darted between his lips. "My name is Gabriel."

"Yeah, of course it is." Her voice sounded odd after so long without use. "It's a lot easier to pretend you're an innocent watchmaker when there's nobody around to slaughter. Tell me, do you still feel the hunger?"

He frowned. "Claire, don't."

"Why shouldn't I?"

She found herself longing for his telekinesis. It would feel _so good _to be able to pin him down and make him feel a fraction of the terror he'd caused her. Years-old revenge finally coming to a close. And then everything could be all full of butterflies and beauty and resolution.

Yeah, right.

"I'm not that person any more. Sylar died with the last of the human race."

"Well, you sure don't need to justify yourself to me," she said coldly.

"This isn't exactly the way I'd pictured finding you."

"Oh, have you fantasized about that often?"

One step forward, her hands placed on his chest just to watch him squirm. In the end, though, it was her who felt uncomfortable. It had been so long since she'd felt that kind of warmth under her fingers. He seemed very solid, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by the loneliness and the fact that _she didn't want to let him go…_

"Then don't," he murmured, his arms snaking around her waist and pressing her against him.

"You stole Parkman's ability," she accused, but at this point it didn't seem to matter. She could feel his heart pounding through his shirt, almost in time with her own. It set off a sort of hollow aching inside her. Too long. Too long since she'd touched someone like this. Too long since she'd felt like a real person herself.

"Not Parkman's," he said. "Mind reading, sure, but I never did get to Parkman."

"So where does that leave us?" she whispered.

"God, Claire. Don't leave. I can't be alone again."

Tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump went their hearts, and they were breathing shallowly and quickly, and he was in her head but she could read everything in those brown eyes, and it was almost like they were one and the same.

She lifted herself onto tiptoes. He bent his head slightly. Her eyes slid closed.

Their lips met.

He was being gentle, evidently wanting to prove that he wasn't the man she remembered. Teenage Claire would probably have appreciated this. Immortal Claire wanted Sylar, and she wanted him _now. _

"Damn it," she said. "Where's the evil psychopath?"

She was drawing him out. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he drew back, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Whatever he said, Sylar never really would be gone. He was a hunter, and if he wanted, she could be the prey.

"I suppose I could be an evil psychopath," he said, bending to kiss her again. "Be careful what you wish for, though."

And she didn't mind. Because they might as well have been a god and goddess, Adam and Eve.

Eternity together was better than two eternities apart.


End file.
